When faith is not translated right

Why do guns threaten the air in hands above heads
so full of story there need be no new testament?

All power and no light; all arms and no keep;
What is to be done with men like them?

They are broken like empires Median and Parthian
But rename themselves in hopes of returning to rule,
if even just the snakes and shambles of a state.

They are lords after all,
though lords of lives lived on meagre to no means
Lives lived one unrighteous day after another;
But lives that comprise lordship enough.

On one of those unrighteous days fed up
not knowing how to market
The need for knowledge freely shared,
The need for honest work fairly paid, and
The need for divine simplicity as a creed, these lords,
power-drunk, came upon the idea to force it.

Minus the maiming and genocide,
chance favoured them being heard; but
before rot set in, they had to reign outright.

Trouble is, atop their humvee in the street, they
appeared tragic and oppressive in their lack of faith.
And even if more suitable thrones were given them,
not godly, but like ghosts of a machine they seemed
Out to return ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
from which it is known, they resurrect not a soul.